


Ocean Deep

by Apu



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bullying, Depression, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff, M/M, Relationship Problems, Sexual Harassment, Smut, Surfing, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apu/pseuds/Apu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years had passed since Myrcella Baratheon decided to quit it all. And throughout all those years, she made a lot of stupid mistakes; running away, falling in love and returning home heartbroken. But no decision could compare to the one she made at the start of her miserable journey.</p><p>“How could you even think about giving this up?”</p><p>A certain blue eyed red-head has his opinion and gives it freely. An opinion that Myrcella doesn’t care for at all; or so she tells herself…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ocean Deep

**Author's Note:**

> To you loyal pricks out there, who'll read this even though I'm an arse; cheers!
> 
> To the newbies, welcome. 
> 
> Ps. I'm sorry for being a rip off and still using the same 'work' with the kudos n' that, but I would've started a ne w one if:
> 
> a) I wasn't so lazy with tags lol  
> b) If I could find another way to notify the subscribers on this. 
> 
> Also, soz for the title change.  
> Cheers!

 

* * *

  _Myrcella_

* * *

 

It had been a while. Six years, to be exact; _six years_ since she’d set foot on a beach. Whether it was sandy or washed up with shells and pebbles, it made no difference. She wanted no part of any of it. The sand, the rocks, _the waves._ The ocean had swallowed her whole, once, and spat her back out. _She hated it._

But that wasn’t the truth. No, not really. She could never hate the thing she _loved_ most.

Young, stubborn and stupid, Myrcella made a lot of bad decisions in the past six years; ran away, was on the verge of being homeless and fell in love. But when she decided to quit surfing and everything that came with it, the beginning to six years’ worth of bad decision-making; that was the worst of them all.

And so here she was; divorced at the age of twenty-two, back living with her _loving_ parents and maybe a little more mature but certainly no less stupid. If she was smart, she wouldn’t have caved in. But here she was. There was _no_ going back.

_Gods, she had missed this._

Myrcella watched in awe as the waves rolled in, tumbling for as long as it willed them before the sea called them back in. She scrunched her toes in the cool sand, the grains either falling through the gaps or clinging to her skin. She could smell the saltwater, could hear the seagulls. Perhaps they were welcoming her back. It was mostly the view, actually. She revelled at the sight before her, with the sun rising in the horizon, a picture of oranges and yellows and pinks, painted across the sky, mirroring off the water. It was utterly peaceful, and for the first time in months, Myrcella felt as if she was _finally_ home. For real. And she _despised_ that.

Blackwater Bay was practically deserted, not a soul in sight until she spotted a group of surfers in the water. They were right in the hot-spot, where the waves were rolling in tight despite how small they were. _Perfect for a long board,_ she thought while surveying the small, clean waves. Some had a good shoulder to them, waves that she could maybe cut nicely. _If you can remember,_ a voice chided. She shuddered.

Shaking off her impending thoughts, she plopped her bag in the sand with her towel, phone and other important essentials and began the short process of waxing her board. It’d been a long time, so long that she forgot just how much her arm ached after properly waxing a board. Stripping off her thongs and simple summer dress, she then threw on her rashshirt and began to lather on the sunscreen.

Once finished, she picked up her Blackbird model, hand carved from the Summer Iles with ancient signs and symbols branded into the fibreglass. It was a gorgeous board, expensive too, and one of the finest models out. She had missed it dearly even though she’d only used it a half-a-dozen times before she stopped. Gazing at its beauty one last time before tucking it under her arm, she took a deep breath and trekked through the sand.

Upon reaching the sea, with the whitewash lapping at her ankles before retreating back, Myrcella strapped the Velcro-legrope to her left ankle. _‘You’re a goofy.’ He’d grinned at that. ‘Just like me.’_ Taking another deep breath, she proceeded into the waves and _shivered_ once the ocean reached her waist. At that moment she jumped on her board, straightened her body up and began the long paddle out.

It was a struggle, even though the surf was small and clean. It was considered an easy paddle, but with six years lost it was just like paddling out in rough surf in Myrcella’s eyes. After an eternity, she finally reached her spot; right beside the small group of people. They would have the inside, but perhaps she could catch a wave or two. They were probably staring, just _waiting_ for her to catch a wave and deem her good or not. _They’ll probably think me a bloody kook. Just a girl who has no idea how to surf._

When she arrived at their side, however, she found them arguing which filled her relief. They had yet to notice her.

“ _I fucking won that! You know it, I know it.”_ She heard a voice grit out through a clenched jaw, and turned to find the youngest of the group of four red faced and glaring. He couldn’t have been older than eighteen, tall and lanky, lean with muscle and a mop of auburn curls more wild than the Stormland beaches.

“Bullshit! If anything, you cheated.” The only girl of the group piped up. She was strikingly gorgeous, short mousy-brown hair sticking to her neck, small and skinny figure with slight curves that only accentuated her beauty more. Even from this distance Myrcella could see how bold and beautiful her eyes were. “You broke the number one surf code; that’s _unforgivable_ in the Gods eyes! _”_

A laugh broke through the tension; an older man with dark brown hair, almost black, falling into his eyes. He was similar looking to the woman, only packing muscle and a penis. _That was weird, Myrcella._

“Has anyone ever told you that you lose awfully?” The man addressed the girl who glared in return.

“He cheated! He dropped in on my wave; _twice!”_

 _“I. Did. Not!”_ The boy growled. “Even Jon backs me up, Arya! You lost; take it or leave it!”

“I want a rematch!”

“Fuck no!”

“Why, scared you’ll lose again?” She taunted.

“Arya, you lost, not me. That’s the only reason you want a rematch! Just admit it; I’m the better surfer.” He replied smugly. “Beauty always beats age, unfortunately for you.”

“Rickon, for the sake of Aunt Cat, shut up before we find her weeping over your corpse.”

“She doesn’t scare me!” The boy protested proudly.

“Well she should. She scares me…” At this deep, rumbly voice Myrcella realised two things:

 

  1. They were Northerners. How she missed their obvious accents, she’ll never know.



 

  1. The man’s back she was currently ogling was nice. _Very nice…_



 

And so was his accent. But his back was _beautiful._ A perfect triangle from his shoulders, narrowing down to his hips. Ripples of muscle, fair skin complimented by the redness of his curls, and _freckles._ She wondered just how many there were on his back. Fifteen? Thirty? _More?_

She was so caught up in her own, stupid head, wondering about backs and freckles that she didn’t see him turn his head. And suddenly she was staring at his very attractive chest (an even better sight).

She snapped her head back in horror, looking down at her board. But not before the blue of his eyes and cocky smirk was burned into her mind. _Fuck._ She was grateful that everyone else still bantered on about who won otherwise they would’ve witnessed her mortification. Gods, her face must’ve been redder than his _gorgeous_ hair. She flushed more. _Fuck._ This had to be a sign that this was an _awful_ idea.

“Alrigh’ now, enough! Set’s rollin’ in!” It was _him_ who said it, _him_ with his abs and jaw so perfectly chiselled, blue eyes sparkling with mirth and full lips looking so _kissable._

_Stop, Myrcella! **Focus!**_

Looking up from her board, seeing the first wave in the distance; it was all so surreal. A gasp escaped her as it approached, and she quickly lay down on her board to paddle over it. This wasn’t another dream of hers, nor a fantasy tale. This was real.

_‘Don’t go for the first damned wave you see. Surfing takes patience, sweetheart. Can you be patient?’_

_“I think so…” She’d replied hesitantly._

_“Good. That’s good. A nice set only lasts for a while, Gods, usually you’ll only catch one wave before you have to wait for the next one. So be patient, and wait for it.’_

Myrcella ignored the bickering group, paddling over the next wave as their voices carried over the water. She ignored the girl and boy, as they fought for dominance over a wave.

_‘Wait for what?’_

She continued to ignore the laughter.

‘Never mind, Rick! You’ll get her next time.’

 _‘The right one – the right wave – the one that makes you_ crave _more.’_

The girl must’ve won. **_Focus!_ **

She paddled over the fourth wave, a nice clean one. One that she should’ve gone for. _But it wasn’t right. _

_‘How will I know?’ She asked her Uncle, so unsure that she could truly do this._

She heard someone else take off behind her, a whoop of cheer going up.

_‘You’re a natural at this, Myrcella. You’ll know when you see it, sweetheart. Trust me.’_

How easily he’d thrown those two words in there. _Trust me..._

**_Focus._ **

It was quiet. She made the mistake to look around, finding no one but the man himself. Staring at her. She quickly turned away and found herself looking at the last wave of the set. It was a shit wave; too full to catch. But she couldn’t stay here, with him smirking arrogantly at her every minute.

Using her legs to steer her board inwards, she then proceeded to lie down flat. Arching her back as she started stroking through the water, left and right, repeated.

_‘You won’t make it. You’re not good enough.’_

Her whole upper body ached as she put every bit of energy into her paddling. It was utterly exhausting work.

_‘The wave is too good for you. Everyone is too good for you.’_

It should’ve payed off.

The wave passed her by, breaking away from her a few spots in front. In the distance she saw the other group members making their way back out. It hurt.

 _‘You’re nothing. He left because you’re nothing.’_   

“The wave was too full.” A voice from behind her said. “Even an extremely skilled surfer would struggle with surf like that.”

“And you’re that ‘extremely’ good surfer that would know, right?” She asked in an annoyed tone. Turning back out to the sea, she paddled the short league where everything was flat, filled with small floaties bobbing up and down.

“I apologise if I have offended—”

“—All you’ve done is sit on your board, _watching_ the others catch their waves and I have no doubt that you run through your judgemental thoughts as you watch it all.” The man’s pretty face was a picture of shock. But the arrogant smirk was back a second later, an expression that greatly angered her.

“Wow.” He murmured, looking at her intently. She knew she wasn’t truly angry at him, more so irritated with his cocky tone, but she was angry at herself. For letting the past get the better of her; and she needed _someone_ to let some steam off on. He happened to be the perfect, annoying candidate. “I was only trying to help. You looked _put out_ when your board didn’t catch.”

“I wasn’t!” She was quick to protest.

“Of course. Again, I do apologise for coming off the way I do and for offending you. It was never intentional.”

She didn’t respond and suddenly it was silent. For a time, she could only focus on the signs and symbols of her board. Curiosity got the better of her and she looked up. And there he was, still looking at her – this time with no smirk, just a serious Northern face _curious_ himself. He looked like he was about to say something, but thankfully they were interrupted.

“You really do annoy me sometimes, Robb.” The girl from before said.

So that was his name. _Robb._

“Why’s that, _dear sister?”_ He asked mockingly.

“Because you haven’t caught a fucking wave all fucking day. How can you just sit there, with some of the best waves that Blackwater’s seen all year floating past you?” The teenaged boy entered the conversation as he paddled up beside the woman.

“He’s waiting for the _right one.”_ Myrcella’s breath caught in her throat. “Just like he always does with the _right one.”_

“Shut up, Jon.” The man— _Robb_ replied. “You make me sound so bloody uptight.”

“That’s because you _are_ uptight, Robbo! Gods, I could imagine you sitting at a bar, turning down a pretty woman when she sidles up next to you for a good night of fun. But she’s not the _right one.”_

“Rickon, I will personally dig your grave after I’m done with you.”

“Robb Stark; one of the hottest, youngest eligible bachelors looking for the _right one_ for a good night of sex. If anyone is interested please contact the hotline down below.” Robb groaned as the girl put on a funny, monotone voice.

“The King of the North, looking a nice lady – the _right_ lady – a lady to go down South on!” The whole group were in tears once they saw his face, redder than his hair. Myrcella sadistically smiled for second, enjoying is mortification. However, the implication of having this man go down on someone – let’s just say she felt a little flushed too.

“Would you three shut up? Here I am, tryin’ to have a nice surf and you’re buggering it up!” He said hotly.

“Maybe it just isn’t the ‘right’ day.” They all laughed again, the teenaged boy complaining about his belly through breaths.

“Are you done?” They continued to laugh, like one happy family teasing the shit out of each other. It made her sad. She had Tommen and Gendry. And there was Shireen, of course, who _always_ put a smile on her face. But then there was _Joffrey…_

_‘Joff’s coming home tomorrow. Isn’t that exciting?’_

Myrcella felt a shiver go through her spine. It’d been more than four years since she’d seen her older brother, and soon they’d be reunited once more. The nervous feeling returned to her belly; the feeling she’d got when her mother had told her the news.

Her mother always protected Joffrey. She didn’t even care about… when Myrcella had told her she’d—

_Don’t think about that! It’s in the past, now. It’s over._

But even as she told herself it, flashes of that one night were being played in her head.

_‘Joff’s coming home tomorrow.’_

“SET’S COMMIN’ IN!” Someone hollered.

“This’ll be my last wave for the day, I think.” Said the girl. “And yours too.”

“What?” The boy whined.

“Mum asked me to take you shopping for your school supplies. And I’m already sick of you so let’s just get it over and done with, eh?”

“Alright then.” The boy huffed. “One more round determines the winner.”

“Deal.”

She heard the last of the laughter and banter as she paddled over the fourth wave of the set. Blocking out all her surroundings, it was just her and the ocean. She studied each wave, never noticing the person behind her shooting off another wave. She could hear her own heartbeat, just like that night. She could hear herself weakly pleading, the snide remarks and the cackling.

And then she saw it. A nice, clean wave, smooth and sharp edges combined. It rippled in on itself, curling and charging in.

_‘You’ll know when you see it, sweetheart.’_

This was the perfect wave. She knew it in her heart; she knew it in her gut. She steered her board with a grin, but stopped short when she saw _him_ , already set to take on the wave. _He has the inside,_ she thought with disappointment, and she wasn’t about to break the number one surf code (she had more honour than that). It was too good to be true.

She should’ve known.

But then he glanced up from his board, his eyes met hers. His _ocean blue_ eyes, twinkling and staring for what felt like an eternity. So bright and serious, making her nervous all over again. Trystane _never_ caused her to feel this way, to get so stupid and insipid over a look. It was _strange…_

“This one’s yours.” He said with a small smile, sitting up on his board and rubbing a hand through his damp curls. She was shocked. _Who would give up such a wave?_

“If you don’t start paddling soon, I’ll take it for myself.”

_Right._

She set into motion, lying flat on her belly and arching her back. Her feet were stiff and steady, her arms propelling her forward as she streaked through the water. She heard it approaching behind her, she felt the board being swept up with its force. She felt herself take off, but gave it and arm or two to make sure.

_‘Stand up! Quickly.’_

She listened.

_‘Bend your knees. Crouch low! NICE!’_

The release she felt at the feeling had her yelping with joy. Her veins were pulsing, her heart beating into her ears, eyes wide and open; seeing the beauty once more.

_‘NOW CUT THE WAVE.’_

And with a sweeping motion beneath her feet, she’d swivelled her board left, cutting the wave with ease. Pressing on her back foot to slow down, jolting her front to speed up. She rode the wave out the whole way, her chest thumping, and blood pumping. She felt _extraordinary_ , from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, she was grinning.

There was no other way to explain it. It was _perfect._

_‘Nice work, sweetheart.’_

With a deep breath, and a hearty giggle, she let herself revel in the magic of it all. The ocean called for her to come back out; to ignore the tingling hot sensation on her skin that let her know was burning. And so she did.

With the sun fully risen and with other surfers of Kings Landing now paddling out beside her, she suddenly remembered the bloke who’d gifted the wave to her. She searched the ocean, smiling at a woman beside her who’d just paddled out and complimented her ‘nice wave’. Scanning from right to left, she searched for the red head.

And she spotted him in the distance. _Robb._

A swirl of motion, carving the wave, expertly gaining speed. He did tricks, as well. Clever little airs that she used to see Uncle Jaime perfect all the time. _He was good. Very good._ It was hard to explain how he moved with the wave, following its flow and current through. Watching him was entrancing, capturing her eyes as he swivelled and rode the wave out to the very end, until it was nothing but whitewash being pulled back into the sea. She didn’t realise she’d been holding her breath until he retreated back up the beach, his form soon disappearing from sight.

_‘Listen to the waves, sweetheart. Follow its curves, hear it speak and listen for its heartbeat. It’s just you and the ocean; to surf, you need to earn its respect. Earn its respect, and you’ll be a legend.’_

_Robb_ had earned its respect years ago. Of this, she was certain.

She turned and pushed the red head out of her mind, patiently waiting for the new set to arrive. A little longer couldn’t hurt. It’d been six years; six, long miserable years. No surfing, no waves, no ocean, just pain and misery.

But she was back! Finally she was back.

And Gods did it feel good!

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, long time no see. To those of you who read the four chapters before I decided to hate it and be a silly perfectionist about, I sincerely apologise. I'm sorry I'm a fuckwit. It's turned super slow burn now, and characters & relationships have changed. The first chapter is basically the same, but after that it's pretty different. 
> 
> I'll try to make weekly updates. No promises though.  
> Cheers and have a good one! 
> 
> Title name comes from a song from a band called Palace. Look 'em up, they're pretty great!


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